


Waiting Game

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alcohol, And they make out a lot, Angst, Could Be Canon, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Inner Circle - Freeform, Jealousy, Poetry, Pre-ACOTAR, Starfall is also a thing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and have feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9236714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Morrigan and Azriel have had lovers before, but when they can no longer ignore this fact, things get interesting. Angst and loads of sexual tension, coming right up.This takes place pre-ACOTAR and goes up through Starfall in ACOMAF.





	1. Waiting Game

The light of dawn was bursting through Morrigan’s window. She was slow waking up, enjoying the warmth, the comfort of her own bed. She stretched her arms and her hands ran into something warm and soft. 

No, not some _thing_. Some _one_. 

It was Sarah, one of the staff at Rita’s. The brunette was a good friend of Morrigan’s, and sometimes they just happened to spend the night in each other’s bed. 

She enjoyed the intimacy they shared, the trust and understanding. It gave Mor a different kind of companionship than she could get from her Illyrian boys. It wasn’t that her friends weren’t supportive and challenging and loyal. They were all of that. But Mor needed a different kind of affection, and occasionally she tried to find it elsewhere. 

She needed someone who truly understood her, even in her moments when she didn’t say a word, or the rare moments when her words were insufficient – or even downright misleading. Someone who wouldn’t ask her to put it all out on the table for them, but do some work in understanding her themselves. 

Sometimes she saw the way that Azriel looked at her, and she let herself imagine what it might be like, if she and the shadowsinger became more than friends. He was loyal, and beautiful, and kind. He protected his brothers with a fierceness that she admired. 

And he was that person who never asked her to explain herself. On her worst days, he was there, and he always knew what she needed, ever since Eris and her family had… But there was something else, too. Going down that road with Azriel was not a decision to be made lightly. 

When Morrigan had asked Sarah to come home with her, it was with the knowledge that this relationship, should it end, would not finish her. She would heal, and she would move on, and she would find someone else. 

But with Azriel… there would be no possibility of repair, if he broke her heart. Or worse – if she broke his. She would give him her heart, body, and soul, and there would be no coming back from that. 

Mor sighed, louder than she had meant to. While she knew how Azriel looked at her, he wasn’t exactly an open book, and she needed someone who could tell her how they felt. Behind closed doors, at least. 

Sarah stirred from her position on her side and turned to Morrigan. “Good morning, lovely,” she said, and she moved closer to sink into Mor’s warmth. 

“Good morning.” Morrigan wrapped her arm around the woman’s waist, wondering if this would be enough. But, she realized, she already knew the answer to that question. 

After another discontented sigh, Morrigan stood, putting on a robe to cover her nudity. She wasn’t a prude, but her townhouse was fairly open to the elements and had few curtains. She enjoyed feeling of having the outdoors at her fingertips. “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” Mor said. “But it’s time I got up and about, anyway.” 

“Of course. I need to get going, too. You know, responsibilities, commitments, duties.” Sarah knew Morrigan wouldn’t ask her to stay longer, no much how much she wanted to be asked. That was just part of the package when it came to Morrigan. Few people understood what was going on between her and Azriel, but whatever it was ensured that getting in between them was an exercise in frustration and futility. 

“Understood,” Mor smiled kindly. 

After Sarah had dressed, Morrigan escorted the woman downstairs to the front door. Outside on the sidewalk, Mor gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and watched her walk away. 

Sometimes she wondered if she shouldn’t ask Sarah to stay longer. To see each other more regularly. 

But… there was that shadow in the back of her mind, and it refused to be displaced. 

Mor stood outside, appreciating the view from her street. It was a beautiful morning, calm, clear, not a cloud in the sky. She was at peace, and while there was always that whisper of someone else in her thoughts, she wanted to enjoy this few moments of quiet. 

She leaned against the wall of her townhouse, letting the sun warm her face. She expected the moment of solitude to last at least a few minutes, but then she sensed him, and knew it was over. 

Azriel was walking down the street towards her. And he wasn’t alone. 

He was approaching her townhouse with a woman. Someone Morrigan didn’t know. The woman was beautiful, all legs and cheekbones. Mor turned her head so that it wouldn’t seem like she was staring. But not before she noticed the woman lean in to Azriel and kiss his cheek before she turned to go. 

Something inside of Morrigan recoiled from the sight. As if she hadn’t just done the exact same thing to someone else. With someone else. 

What she had with Sarah, with her other lovers, was satisfying, and often comforting, but what she felt for Azriel was all fire. It threatened to burn her up inside, and she didn’t know whether she loved or hated the feeling that her skin was on too tight, like it was no longer enough to contain her and all the things she wanted. 

As the woman walked away, Azriel looked up to Mor’s doorstep and saw her resting there. _Shit_. He was usually so much more careful than this. The sunlight reflected off her hair, soaked in to the deep blue silk of her robe. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew she had already seen him. 

For his part, Azriel felt the same as his friend. Whenever Morrigan was in the room he had to control himself, when all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and breathe in her scent. He knew it wasn’t just sexual. He could easily solve that problem, and he frequently did. 

As he approached her door, he scented someone else in the air around her. A female. 

He wasn’t surprised. Of course others noticed the beauty of his Morrigan. Some of them went so far as to fall in love with her, and he had endured that, too. She never kept them around for long, and he always loosed a sigh of relief when she stopped showing up to dinner with a lover in tow. But that relief contained a hint of dread, making him wonder if she would finally fall in love with the next person who cared for her. 

“Azriel,” she nodded to him in greeting. 

His hands were in his pockets and he was perfectly put together. His dark hair was long enough for her to run her fingers through, and she admired the sharp lines of his clean-shaven jaw. The cut of the clothes he wore now showed their expense, as well as the fact that he had been keeping up with his training. 

Not that she noticed. 

“Dear Morrigan,” he replied, taking her hand and bowing slightly. 

“Why the formality,” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Must be the clothes.” 

She became conscious of her hair, mussed from just waking, the fact that she was wearing nothing but her robe out on the street. “Let’s go inside.” She turned and went into her foyer, waiting for Azriel to close the door. 

She plopped down onto her couch and crossed her legs. The fabric of her robe threatened to slide off her leg, revealing more of her thigh than she intended. She smirked to herself, wondering if Azriel would care. She let her robe fall where it would. 

“Coffee?” 

Azriel declined with a small wave of his hand. 

“So, who was that?” Mor’s voice was more clipped than she intended. She had wanted to sound cheery and interested in a friend’s relationship, but dammit if her voice didn’t have a mind of its own. 

Azriel leaned against her fireplace, looking down at her. Letting his eyes travel from her bare feet, up her long legs, to the spot where her robe closed to cover her breasts. 

“No one you need to be concerned about.” He shot her a knowing look, which she pretended not to notice. 

“How long have you been doing… that?” She hated to hear herself. She sounded jealous and ridiculous, and she didn’t want to be that person. Being false was worse on her because it was not a choice she would make willingly or easily. 

Morrigan was not made for subterfuge, and when she was like this around Azriel it made her all the more uncomfortable. 

She cleared her throat. 

“I’ve only seen her a few times. She’s… nice.” Azriel didn’t know how to talk about his lovers with Morrigan. He was usually more careful than this, for more than one reason. 

Mor snorted at the term. “Puppies are nice. Rainbows and flowers are nice. Is that really all you have to say about her? She must not be that impressive.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Mor.” She looked up at him, suddenly ashamed. She had no claim on Azriel. She had no reason to act this way, not when they weren’t together. Not towards her friend. 

She stood and circled the couch to rest her hands on the back of it. “I’m sorry, I just…wrong side of the bed and all. I’m sure she’s lovely. And if she makes my friend happy, that’s all I need to know.” He nodded, and she sighed in relief. Maybe they could move on from this topic. 

Azriel pretended to look for dust on the fireplace mantle. “What time did Sarah leave last night?” He asked the question casually. As if he didn’t already know that Sarah didn’t leave until the morning, after spending the night in Morrigan’s bed. 

His features were neutral, calm, and collected when he turned his face to look at her - and it pissed Morrigan off. She had made such an effort to conceal her own emotions. She was nearly jealous of the ease he had at hiding what he was thinking, at knowing what was on her mind. 

She may have wanted to be with someone who could understand her without her saying a word, but sometimes she wished she could take away his ability to do that with her. 

Although Morrigan's perceptive skills weren't as good as Azriel's, she had spent enough time around him that she had figured out a long time ago how to read between his lines. 

They held each other’s gaze as she tried to figure out how to respond. Her nostrils flared slightly in her anger and desperation to look into him and see what he was really thinking. Behind his hazel eyes, she spied something like hurt. Hurt, and something else she had suspected for a long, long time. 

Azriel shifted uncomfortably. This was new. For once, he was unsure of his ability to mask what he was feeling. For once, he might realize that she understood more about him than he wanted to share. 

A small smile lifted one corner of Morrigan’s mouth. 

“This morning. Sarah left this morning. Right before you and _Nice_ walked up, in fact.” She couldn’t help the slight inflection in her voice. She was turning into someone she didn’t want to be, Cauldron help her. 

He left his position by the fireplace and approached her. He remained silent as he came closer to her, too close, until she was bumping into a wall she had forgotten was behind her. His breath was hot on her face. His eyes were burning into hers, and she longed to reach up and touch him. 

“Azriel.” She cleared her throat again. “Why did you come here this morning?” _And why did you bring her practically to my doorstep? And why did it bother me so much?_

For a moment, he moved and gave her more space. She nearly breathed in relief. But then something like resolve crossed his features. He moved back into her, his eyes locking on her mouth. 

“I just wanted to check on my… friend,” he said quietly. “You know. See how things are going. See if we are still having dinner tonight.” 

Morrigan’s mouth was pink and slightly swollen. He made her so conscious of it that she couldn’t stop herself from biting her bottom lip. 

His breath audibly quickened, and the space between them seemed to shrink until all she was aware of was the size of him, his eyes on her lips. Her eyes were level with his mouth. All she had to do was lift her head, lean forward, and cross a boundary that they had been dancing around for years. 

“Of course I’m coming,” she said. The words between them were all pretense, now. There was no reason for him to be standing so close, no reason for her to allow it, except the blood that was roaring through both of them. 

“I hope you wear something more appropriate.” He took the silk tie to her robe and ran it through his fingers. 

She shifted slightly and they both became painfully aware of how near they were to being entwined. 

“And what would you do about it, Azriel,” she whispered, “If I came to dinner wearing this?” Her eyes drifted in turn to his lips. The mouth she had imagined all over her, more times and ways than she could count. 

All he had to do was pull on that silk tie around her waist. 

“What would you do,” she insisted. “Do you know what I’m wearing under this? Do you want to know?” 

Azriel bent his head down slightly. He didn’t have far to go, and he found himself wondering, not for the first time, what would happen if he just parted her lips with his own and tasted her. 

He wrapped the strip of silk between his fingers, and pulled on it until it was taut. 

Morrigan reached up and brushed the tips of her own fingers along his brow, down his cheek and across his jaw. He was so beautiful, and it made her ache to think that he didn’t see it. 

Azriel reached up to stroke her arm, the end of the silk tie still pulled tight in his other hand. He knew what she was asking. He knew exactly what she had on under that robe. 

He glanced down at her chest, at the dark shadow between her breasts where the panels of fabric came together. He watched her breathe, felt himself grow warmer as he subconsciously moved in closer to her, until he was pressing her in between himself and the wall. 

She lifted her head slightly. An invitation. 

The sound of her grandfather clock chiming caused them to jump apart, flushed and amazed to see that the rest of the world still existed around them. 

Azriel’s expression suddenly became shuttered, closing himself off from allowing her to see what had been going through his mind. He could still smell that other woman on her, in the apartment, and if there was a chance that Morrigan might love her, or even grow to love her… 

He strode to her front door. “You look lovely, Morrigan. I’ll see you tonight.” With that, he was gone. 

Mor remained with her back against the wall, trying to catch her breath, trying to figure out where she had gone wrong.


	2. Bedroom Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azriel and Morrigan see each other at dinner after their confrontation against the wall of her apartment. Az gets awkward. Mor gets mad. More tension ensues. Still rated Mature because of where it goes from there. (still pre-ACOTAR, as a reminder. Just before Amarantha’s shenanigans.)
> 
> I’m sorry for the way this ends, but given where I want the next two parts to go, I felt like it was the most appropriate. 
> 
> Chapter title based on the song by Banks

Morrigan walked into Rita’s that evening wearing a deep blue wrap dress that tied around her waist. She had gone out that afternoon and bought it specifically for this dinner. 

She grabbed the silk tie at her waist, running it through her fingers and smirking to herself. Of course, this was actual _clothing_ and not the robe that Azriel had run his hands over earlier that morning, but she thought he might appreciate her… sense of humor. 

Everyone else was already there – Rhysand, Cassian, Amren, and Azriel. They were used to Morrigan being fashionably late, and had already ordered drinks. 

When Azriel noticed her approach the table, he started slightly. Oh, yes. He did appreciate her sense of humor. And her dress. 

She slid gracefully into the open seat next to Azriel. 

“Dearest cousin,” Rhys crooned, “did you not think about showing up on time, for once?” 

“You know how I like to make an entrance, darling,” Mor replied in a singsong voice. 

“Well, let’s order,” Cassian said. “I’m starving.” 

“What a surprise,” Mor said sweetly. “How was everyone’s day?” 

A chorus of goods and oks was her response as she flagged down a waitress to order a glass of red wine. It was not Sarah. Thank the Cauldron; Mor didn’t know if she would be able to handle having her around them all night, not so soon after the talk between her and Azriel this morning. 

Cassian, Amren, and Rhys continued the conversation they had been having when Mor walked in, leaving Mor and Az to their own conversation. 

Morrigan turned to Azriel. He kept his eyes forward, hands wrapped around his glass of bourbon. 

Morrigan sipped at her wine, slowly. She either needed to keep her mouth occupied or lose her inhibitions, and she honestly didn’t know which would be better. 

She looked at Azriel, eyes narrowed, willing him to say something to her. She didn’t want to be the first one to break, not when he was the one who had left that morning. He pretended not to notice and nursed his glass. 

Finally, the waitress arrived to take their order, providing a distraction. Morrigan was not going to give up, though, and renewed her determination. 

After ordering, silence returned to her side of the table. Morrigan cocked her head at Azriel. She tried coughing. Clearing her throat. 

The silence became unbearable. She swigged the rest of her wine. Lowered inhibitions and open mouth it would be, then. She signaled for another glass. 

They both broke at the same time, Azriel beginning to apologize for leaving at the same time that Morrigan began to ask him about his day. They looked at each other and smiled. 

“Let’s start with something easy,” she suggested. “How was the rest of your day?” Mor tried to keep her tone even, but her voice cracked. Of course it would. Once again, she was proving herself incapable of being anything but brutally honest with Azriel, and she couldn’t hide the turmoil she was going through. 

“It was fine. Reports. Things like that.” Azriel swirled the bourbon around in his glass. “You?” He raised an eyebrow at her before looking back down. 

“Well, I went shopping.” She gestured down to her dress, knowing he was marking every move she made, despite his refusal to look at her. 

“I noticed. It’s beautiful.” 

“I didn’t want to disappoint.” She grinned at him, trying to keep the mood light. 

“You could have worn the robe. No one here would have minded. You make everything look good.” 

Morrigan didn’t know what to say to that. She remained silent for a few minutes as she finished her second glass of wine. 

“Oh,” she started slyly. “You should also know that I got rid of my grandfather clock.” 

Azriel choked on his drink and Mor bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her joy at his reaction to herself. 

Mor went to signal for another glass of wine, but the waitress was already on her way with it. She grabbed at it greedily. “Oh, you are my favorite person! Keep these coming, please. In fact, if you want to just bring me a bottle…” She waved amicably at the waitress’s understanding nod. 

The others had quieted so they could listen to what Mor and Az were whispering about. 

“So, you didn’t want to invite…” Mor paused, waiting for the woman’s real name. She wouldn’t stoop so low as to continue to call her _Nice_ , no matter how much she wanted to remind Azriel about his apparent lack of enthusiasm. 

“Rylanna,” he replied shortly. “If I decide that things are going well, then I’ll invite her to join this pack of wolves. Maybe.” 

Amren snorted. “Are you sure you don’t need a different metaphor, Az? Maybe… lion’s den? Or perhaps an ant colony, complete with a particularly jealous and lovesick queen?” 

Morrigan sat up straighter. Damn Amren and her blunt mouth. 

“Is there something going on here we don’t know about,” Cassian asked, looking to Rhysand. 

Amren turned to them both. “I believe our dear friend Mor here has been sleeping with Sarah. And Azriel went over to her house this morning.” Understanding crossed Cassian and Rhysand’s faces, and suddenly everything Morrigan and Azriel had said and done that evening made sense. 

“I suppose we don’t want to know why you got rid of your clock,” Rhys wondered. 

“No, and I wouldn’t tell you,” she snapped. She refilled her wine glass from the bottle the waitress had brought. 

Cassian and Amren exchanged a look and Cassian moved in so Amren could whisper something in his ear. 

Their food arrived, and Mor let out a breath of relief. Something else to do and talk about, hopefully. 

During dinner, they all chatted amongst themselves, acting as if the previous conversations hadn’t taken place. As they finished, Mor finished her bottle of wine and began a second. She sat back with a sigh. Perhaps they could move on from the awkwardness of this evening, and she and Az could talk about this morning after the others left. 

She moved to shift her body towards Azriel again, but his expression became blank. Mor frowned, until she realized why – Sarah was approaching their table. 

“Hello, everyone.” She nodded to the group. “Hi, lovely.” Sarah bent to brush a chaste kiss on Mor’s cheek. “My shift is over. If you wanted to…” she nodded her head towards the dancefloor. 

Mor hadn’t even realized that Sarah was there; she had been too intent on getting Azriel to talk to her, with little success. 

“Oh, yes, let’s,” she decided. She finished the wine in her glass before standing – and wobbling. How many was that? Five? Six? No matter. She didn’t have to work the next day. 

“It was lovely chatting with you, Azriel,” Mor chirped as she walked away. 

Mor made her way to the dancefloor with the waitress, glancing back at Azriel. He had turned back to his drink, not bothering to join in the conversation with the others. How many drinks was that for him? She should have been paying attention. 

She danced with Sarah for a while, checking on Azriel every few minutes. He wasn’t even making an effort to talk with everyone else, and she wished he would just, for once, reach out and take what he wanted. Instead, he just watched her silently from his seat. She moved closer into Sarah with a sigh. 

Azriel watched Morrigan moving, dancing, and his mind went back to that morning. He had had her strong arms beneath his palms, his breath and hers warming each other, his hips against hers, and he watched now as those same hips moved against someone else. 

Mor was smiling, laughing, and made the darkened dancefloor seem brighter. She gathered others to her and they willingly flocked to her light. 

He knew she loved him – she loved all of them, Amren and Cassian and Rhysand included. Earlier this morning, he thought, she was just jealous of Rylanna. Maybe she just wanted him because he was unavailable. 

Sometimes he didn’t even trust her affection. He didn’t understand how she could give it away, but he also wanted so desperately for her to give it to him that he had a hard time not despising anyone who received it. And of course she bestowed it upon him. But how could he be sure that it was any different from what she felt for her other friends? What she showed to her other friends? 

Especially when one of those friends was Cassian. He knew that she had had other motives for sleeping with his friend, motives that had little to do with love and a lot to do with making decisions about her own life and body, but it still bothered him. If she would so willingly share that with one friend, what was to stop her from making the same type of choice with him? 

He never once questioned her loyalty or how much she cared for others. He just didn’t always understand it. 

Sarah was behind Mor now, arms wrapped around the blonde’s waist. They swayed in time to the music and the brunette was whispering something into Mor’s ear. The slit in her wrap dress showed flashes of leg as she twirled, and Azriel took in the hint of skin. 

By this point Mor had been dancing for over an hour, Azriel's eyes rarely leaving her. She knew he was the type to come and be content sitting by the sidelines, but she had never felt his attention so keenly. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the dress, this morning... Or maybe she was imagining things.  

Sarah tapped Mor's shoulder. "Someone can't keep his eyes off you." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music.  

Ok, then. It wasn't just her imagination. Morrigan turned to look at Azriel. He looked her in the eyes, unashamed of how blatantly he had been watching her dance.  

After the usual dinner crowd left, Rita had dimmed the lights, making the venue more suitable for night time activities and assignations. Even through this obscurity, Azriel's shadows were swirling around him, his hazel eyes dark with longing, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it.  

She needed to go to him. Without saying a word to Sarah, she left the dance floor.  

When she reached the table, Morrigan put one hand on Azriel's shoulder to steady herself as she took off her shoes and threw them under the table.  

Once she had made herself more comfortable, she sat back down at her seat next to him, stretching her legs across the chair that Amren had vacated. Their friends had left soon after dinner was done, claiming fatigue. Now it was just Azriel at the table, and he had been watching her with such hunger in his eyes. Alone.  

"How are you doing, Az?" She tilted her head at him. "Are you holding your liquor," she teased.  

"I never drink more than I can handle. You know that." His eyes burned into hers, watching the way dim light still managed to glint off her hair as she spoke.  

When she looked back to the dance floor, Sarah was gone. It was probably for the best, Mor thought. She felt a twinge of guilt, but she could no more ignore the pull she felt towards Azriel than she could grow accustomed to lying. 

"Why don't you come dance with me? Sarah wouldn't mind. I won't tell anyone about the one time you let go and had fun for a few minutes. Your reputation for broodiness will remain intact. Promise."  

Azriel shook his head. "I think the view is better from here." 

Mor paused for a moment. "Dance with me, Az. Be with me. For me. Just for a little while." She stopped talking and stared at him intently. Let him have a taste of his own medicine, for once. He couldn't hide in the shadows when she was there to pull him out.  

He finally nodded and Morrigan jumped up, clapping. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.  

The music had a steady, energetic beat, but Azriel surprised Morrigan by taking her around the waist and holding her closely as if it were a slower song.  

They remained silent like that for a while, feeling each other's bodies swaying together to the music. Morrigan rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. This - this moment, with this person, was all she wanted. All she needed. If she knew it would happen again she could leave well enough alone, but she had no such reassurances.  

Moving her head from the warmth and comfort of Azriel's shoulder, Morrigan looked up at him.  

"Azriel?" There was hesitation in her voice. She needed to talk about what had happened hours before, and there was always a possibility of him shutting her out.  

"Yes?" 

"This morning-" she felt him stiffen slightly. "This morning, why did you leave?"  

There - she had said it. She had brought up that moment of jealousy and tension in one sentence, and easy as the phrase had been to formulate, what lay beneath it was years of emotion and misunderstanding and miscommunication.  

Azriel cleared his throat. “I could smell her on you. And you deserve that, Mor. Someone like her. Or if not her, someone who isn’t complicated. Someone who is full of light – not rage.” 

Mor looked away, trying to give him space. He so rarely told her how he was feeling and she was afraid to say or do the wrong thing. When he didn’t say anything else, she continued. 

"So then why were you - why do you always watch me?" 

"You bought that dress for my benefit, didn't you? I was just admiring the way it moves on you." 

She tried not to laugh. "Well, yes, but I also wanted you to untie my robe, but you didn't take me up on that." 

“That’s different,” he said shortly. “That’s a line. One I can’t cross.” 

“Not even if I ask? Not even if I want you to?” She looked up at him. 

“Why are you asking these questions, Mor? Why can’t you leave me alone? Just let me be.” He was starting to look angry, and tears began to sting her eyes. 

“But, Az-“ 

He broke away from her with a jerk and stalked off to the restrooms. 

Trying to calm herself, Morrigan followed. She still wasn’t sure on her feet, but sighed in relief as she left the stifling heat of the dance floor. Ordinarily she would have left Azriel alone, but the wine will in her system was still at work and she pushed forward. 

“Azriel!” Morrigan hissed as he made his way down a hallway. “What are you doing? Stop acting like a rutting child!” 

He turned back towards her. “I’m going to use the restroom, Morrigan. Leave me be for five minutes, will you?” 

He entered the restroom without glancing at her again. 

Morrigan felt the blood rushing to her face. Without a moment of hesitation, she followed him. 

The sink was across from the door and she caught him leaning over it, head down, hands resting on either side. He turned around swiftly when he heard her enter. 

“What the hell are you doing, Mor?” She had caught him in a moment when he thought he could be unguarded, and all the emotions he was trying to hide were still written plainly on his face. She didn’t care. 

“We need to talk. Now.” There was no hope for compromise in her voice. She was going to have her way, and Azriel braced himself for the anger she would direct at him. The anger he surely deserved, for having been so free with her – so close to her - and then leaving. 

She turned and locked the door behind her.

“I don’t know what else to say, Mor.” 

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what I need to say. You just listen, you infuriating bat,” Mor snapped. 

She stormed up to him, pressing him into the sink. She only came up to his nose, but somehow she managed to push him until his heels hit the wood of the vanity with a thud. 

“You left today, Az, not me. I was there.” She poked a finger into his chest. “I was ready to… _You_ were the one who left. So don’t take your crap out on me. You don't get to be angry.” She was fuming. She was so tired of this, tired of waiting to see when, if he would make a move. Or if he would accept her making the first move. 

“I am tired, Azriel. I’m tired of trying to tell you how I feel, wondering if you will ever let me in. I’ve been waiting for you to be ready, but it’s tearing me up. And then I actually saw you with someone else and I…” Her voice had been shaking from rage, but now a different emotion came into it. 

“What did I do wrong? Why don’t you ever choose me, Az?” 

His heart broke at her questions. He lifted her chin, and watched her struggle for control cross her features. 

“You’ve never done anything wrong, Mor. You could never do anything to make me not want you.” He swallowed loudly and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I left. You are…” He searched for the words. “You are a storm and sometimes I don’t know if I could weather you. You are the sun and you burn so brightly when all I want to do is stay in the shadows. But I want you more than anything.” 

She searched his eyes, looking for a sign, a hint, some indication of what he would do next. Then she took a chance. 

Pulling him down towards her before he could protest, Morrigan kissed Azriel. It was hungry and desperate, and he paused for a moment before he returned her kiss. He leaned so far into her that she bent back, his arms going around her waist to hold her up. 

He turned her around, switching their positions. He lifted her on to the sink and she wrapped her legs around his hips. They were all hands and lips and hot breath, noses bumping into each other and teeth scraping. 

His hands went to her hair, hers going to his waist, pulling him into her hips. She rucked up the skirt of her dress to get it out of the way, the panels that wrapped around her easily falling to the side. 

The taste of red wine on her lips and bourbon on his would be the first thing either of them thought about when they looked back on this moment. 

Morrigan pulled his shirt out from the waistband of his pants and ran her hands over his hardened stomach, admiring what she had guessed at that morning, had admired every time she watched him train. Unbuttoning his shirt, she ran her hands up to his shoulders. She laughed to herself as she thought of all the hints she had left Azriel over the years, about how attracted to him she was. He could be so modest. 

Azriel moved a hand down her back to pull her hips closer into his own. He began to draw circles on her lower back as he kissed her, until a finger caught on the silk around her waist. He hooked his fingers beneath it, rubbing the material. Slowly, he followed the fabric to the front of her dress. 

“Azriel,” she said, muffled against his mouth. “Pull on the damn tie.” 

He pulled away from her slightly. 

She leaned back, arms braced on the counter behind her, and kept her eyes locked onto his as he pulled on the ribbon around her waist. And separated the fabric that was wrapped around her. 

Morrigan’s heart was pounding and felt like it was in her throat as he took her in. His fingertips brushed up her thighs, over her hips, the curve of her waist and stomach, the swell of her breasts, and worked their way up to her shoulders where he slid the dress off. Her lingerie matched her dress, the same dark blue. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back towards him. 

A knock came at the door. They froze. A strange voice called out. “Hello? Why is the door locked?” 

Right. They were at Rita’s. And in a bathroom. Neither of those things were the most private or intimate – not to mention romantic - places in the world. 

“Sorry, we’ll be out in a minute,” Morrigan called out. She turned bright red when she realized the slip of tongue she just made. Well. This probably wasn’t the first time someone had locked the door of the bathroom here for personal reasons. 

Azriel balled his hands into fists and rested them on the counter on either side of Morrigan. He looked at himself in the mirror, over her shoulder. His lips were swollen from Mor’s liberal use of her teeth, and her hair had come loose from its braid. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, trying to calm himself. 

With a sigh, he placed a small kiss on her neck as he pulled himself away from her. Mor’s hands dropped from his bare skin, trying to keep contact as long as she could. They began to rearrange themselves, refastening buttons and tying ribbons and running fingers through hair. 

“What are we doing, Mor?” 

She tilted her head at him. “Well, you were being an idiot, and then we came in here and started making out…” 

“You know what I mean. What we just did, what we were about to do.” His face blanched slightly. 

“Yes, what we _were_ about to do, Az. What we _both_ want to do,” she reassured him. 

“But you are with Sarah.” 

Morrigan nodded. 

“And you are with Rylanna.” 

Azriel looked away from her. 

With determination, Mor said, “We need to end things with them.” 


	3. A Nearly Perfect Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the incident in the bathroom at Rita’s, Morrigan and Azriel have to decide what the next step in their relationship should be. However, events in Prythian throw their lives into turmoil.

_“But you are with Sarah.”_

_Morrigan nodded._

_“And you are with Rylanna.”_

_Azriel looked away from her._

_With determination, Mor said, “We need to end things with them.”_

Azriel looked up at her in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but… This was different. This was action. He wasn’t sure if he had heard he correctly. He needed to say something. Anything. 

“End things with them,” he echoed. That Mor would want this, that she would go so far as to make it happen... 

He knew the moment he had seen her that he wanted her, that he loved her. It had only taken a moment to change the course of his life, to know what his future would look like. And yet… none of it had come to pass. There was this ever-present image he held in his mind, of a future that included her, and he had clung to this certainty. Despite that, it never seemed to be the right time. 

He blinked, bringing himself back to the present. They were at Rita’s. She had been dancing, there had been wine – he had been drinking, too. He could taste her still and he flicked his tongue over his lower lip. He ran his hands over his clothing, straightening it. And they had been about to… But had they? Would she have taken it that far? 

“Yes. End things with them. So we can… I never told her – that is I never committed myself… I know that you might have some feelings, but I hope-“ Mor found herself at a loss for words, but luckily she was stopped short. 

“Yes,” he interrupted. “Yes. I will do it.” He paused and nearly looked embarrassed. She wanted to smile at his momentary lapse in self-control, but held herself back. 

“Ok,” she said hesitantly. “I will, too. And we can see what happens. I want to be with you. I want to be yours. I love you, Azriel.” 

Her words came out in a rush and she realized that she had gone from expressing possibility to giving him everything in an instant. The color left her face momentarily. She looked at him, waiting. 

She had tried to make the last statement with confidence, with strength and certainty, but her throat had barely let the words through. It had grown smaller as she remembered all the times that she had considered the idea, considered what expressing it to him would mean. She had lain in bed at night, feeling the words persist in the back of her mind and being terrified to let them take shape even there. She had been afraid that if she allowed them to come together, the abrupt consonants smoothed into sense by a steady rhythm of open vowels until they turned into something recognizable, she would not be able to come back from it. She knew that the moment she let herself think, in full words, in a sentence, that she loved him, that she was in love with him, she would be lost to this forever. 

He may not have known about the way she struggled to allow herself this – she had finally formulated the thought in her mind so long ago, rolling the words about and feeling their weight, their taste, repeating them to herself – but the change in her was permanent. It had come with a sense of relief, a weight off her shoulders, when she let herself find the words to embody what she was afraid she had destroyed with her choices. And saying them to him was a decision she had known she couldn’t take lightly, but also one she had always known she would make. 

Those words echoed in him, coming so closely after her demand that they be together. He could hardly discern one declaration from the next, and his heart expanded, past anything he had thought possible. He wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and worship her, to cleanse himself of everything he had done, to atone for centuries of violence by caring for her in ways he had been unable to before. The possibility of redemption was there, in her beautiful, open face, in the way she held her heart out to him to guard. He would live a thousand lifetimes in the dark for the chance to experience this moment again, for the chance to hear her say those words again. 

“Mor,” he choked out, barely able to call on words or language to help him in this moment. He had never had the same difficulty she faced, the difficulty of naming the thing that haunted him at every turn. The word came easily to him, though he had shied away from its audacity immediately – _love_. For Azriel, the concern was himself – that he could ever work hard enough to deserve her, that he could ever be anything at all. 

The worthlessness of his own being was one of the first things he had been taught, one of the first things he had been able to use in his life. If he was worth nothing, he could do the work he needed to do. What did it matter if a bastard trailed by shadow hurt others? What did it matter if he was driven by rage, if his hands were covered in blood? What soul was there to redeem in a man like that? 

Before her, he had accepted the fact of his limited use, his limited value. With bitterness and fury, he embraced the path that seemed inevitable. After her, he struggled every day to reconcile the fact that what made him _him_ , also made him unworthy of her. 

Her words would echo in his mind in the months and years to come – _why don’t you ever choose me?_ \- and he wished he could take them from her, carve the pain out of her voice and the way she had looked at him, leave her only with the knowledge that he had always, would always, choose her. 

“Morrigan,” he began again. “I’ve wanted to choose you since… forever. I wanted you. Only you. I love you.” She looked at him with such expectation and hope on her face, and he felt the full weight of what they were saying in his chest, in his stomach. He was surprised to find that he was not frightened of it, and he wanted to keep that feeling, to guard it within him. 

“How long,” he asked her. A look passed between them. She knew what he was asking, what he needed to know. The certainty in him, of how he had felt, was not as clear when it came to her. She had held back and pretended not to notice the longing in his movement and breath when he was near. So much between them went unspoken, but now he needed to hear her say it. She wanted to sob in relief that he was asking her, that she could say. 

“It’s been a long time, Az. When we met.” Azriel shifted at the unexpected response. “But everything was so muddled, then. With my family and Eris, and then you finding me… I needed time. For me. And then I wasn’t sure if you would forgive me for… But then when Ianthe was at the Court of Nightmares going after Rhys, Cass, you, I couldn’t take it.” 

Ianthe had been at the Court of Nightmares nearly 50 years ago, he realized with a start. He remembered her slick smiles and sultry innuendos with a shudder. 

“She wanted to get her claws in you,” Mor continued, “and I wanted to kill her for daring to try. I knew Rhysand and Cassian could handle themselves. But then you… I knew you could handle her, too, but I still…” She trailed off, and her face wore an expression he couldn’t quite read. And the way she was looking at him – she wanted him to fill in the rest. To understand that she had been jealous and then angry at herself for it, because she had no right to be. 

“I knew you weren’t ready, for a long time.” She scoffed. “Neither of us have been ready, for one reason or another. But then recently, I knew you had been seeing someone – Rylanna – and that you hadn’t grown tired of her after the usual amount of time.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yes, I notice things too, Azriel. But I was waiting for you. I’m always waiting for you, Az.” 

He let out a deep sigh and lowered his forehead to her shoulder. He reached up to hook his arms around her shoulders, wanting to sink into her there. She wrapped her own arms around his waist and let him find solace in her, for the few moments they had. 

It had been since the beginning, really, for both of them. The moment she had walked into that camp. There was a certainty there that they had avoided; they had read each other as if this were not their first but thousandth meeting, and it was terrifying that amidst everything – the freedom they were both seeking – that they could find something like this. Neither of them had known what it was to have someone see them and value them for something other than their power. Their families had only ever tried to stifle or sell them. And then when everything had happened… 

Mor had been fighting a battle he hadn’t understood at the time, and she had made a choice, the only one she felt she could. She hadn’t fully understood the impact her actions would have on her own life, on Cassian, on Azriel. She had wanted to be free. And she was. Utterly, agonizingly, free. 

He hadn’t understood her decision at the time. He had raged against it, berated himself for ever thinking she would have chosen him. And then, when she had been punished for it, he had suffered again, for not recognizing her reality. For not understanding that there were others out there who didn’t care about the light they had tried to put out, the kindness in that smile that had turned to sorrow. He had understood his own poor treatment, felt he must have deserved it, in some way. But he had still been found it in himself to be horrified at the callous way Mor’s family had treated her. They had laid their hands on her and torn her flesh, and he knew that she didn’t need him in that way any longer. That she wouldn’t, for a long time. 

She swallowed and started to say his name, but he lifted his head and pulled her towards him, hands holding the back of her neck. He placed small kisses on her forehead, between her eyes, the corners of her mouth, before finally settling on her lips to kiss her slow, and deep, with enough intensity that she knew she wanted to drown in this and never come up for air. They could feel each other holding back, tension in every muscle revealing his desire to begin his worship of her immediately, hers revealing anticipation of finally, finally allowing herself openness in how she felt about him. 

When they finally parted, she looked up at him, and it felt like the first time she had been able to look him in the eye and leave her expression completely unguarded. She had rarely lied, but she frequently hid. It was another first, another moment she never wanted to come out of. A tear made its way down her cheek, one she hadn’t noticed until he reached up to wipe it away. 

“Come find me,” she commanded. “When it’s done.” She ran her hands over his chest, resting them over his heart. “Azriel. We have a lot to talk about.” 

He nodded before turning away and leaving her. Mor settled back on the counter before leaving the room after him, smiling to herself and running her hands down the path on her arms where his had just been. 

***** 

At dinner the next day, news was… surprising. In the midst of the changes in her relationship with Azriel, Mor had nearly forgotten that Amarantha had recently returned to Prythian, promising trade and peace. That Rhysand had started to talk of an alliance with her. 

They had all decided to dine at the House of Wind that evening to discuss the recent developments, and Azriel stopped by Morrigan’s townhouse to fly her there. He smiled at her as he approached, taking her hand to brush a kiss on it in greeting. 

“Milady,” he drawled, and Mor giggled at the mock formality. “You look beautiful tonight.” 

“Kind sir,” she said, curtseying while he held her hand. 

He pulled her into his arms and brushed a kiss on her cheek before lifting her into his arms, the weight of her having a new meaning now. He paused for a moment and squeezed where his hands had rested behind her knees and on her back. They had much to say, but now wasn’t the time. Instead, she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and looked into his face with a new openness he relished. He had never realized how much she had held herself back from him, and he didn’t want to let her retreat into that. 

He brushed another kiss behind her ear before he took off. Once they were in the air, she rested her head on his shoulder, thumbs rubbing circles on his shoulders as they made their way through the sky. When they arrived, they realized that everyone else was already there. Rhys, Amren and Cassian stood around the large fireplace in the formal living room, drinks in hand. 

“Late again, Morrigan,” Rhys said tightly. His tone was… different. There was something underneath it, and she couldn’t identify the source of his tension. 

“Sorry, cousin,” she said, letting it drop. Something was wrong, and she wasn’t going to test him. She would try to appease him, then if it was going to be one of those evenings. She didn’t need to deal with a pissy Rhysand when she had other things on her mind. “Let’s just eat, shall we?” 

They made their way to the dining room, and Mor and Azriel made sure to walk behind the others. They snuck glances at each other, each trying to contain their smiles. The backs of their hands brushed each other’s occasionally and fingers wound together innocently. They felt like children, like they had never spoken before, never had the opportunity to look at each other before. There was possibility in every moment that they would connect, that the space between their bodies would be reduced to nothing. Azriel’s entire focus went to the true smile on her face, the softness of the skin he allowed himself contact with. 

Morrigan wondered how they were going to make it through this dinner, how they could possibly wait to be alone again. Azriel, for his part, was thinking about holding her body against his own on the journey to take her home. 

They sat at their usual places, Azriel and Mor next to each other, Cassian and Amren across from them, and Rhysand at the head of the table. Azriel’s leg jumped when Mor brushed it with her own. She allowed a small smile to come up on the corner of her mouth closest to him, letting him see it. A small tendril of shadow made its way to her and brushed her bare ankle. This was going to be difficult. 

“You all know about Amarantha, coming back to Prythian,” Rhys started. Down to business, then. They all exchanged looks as he continued. 

“I’m going to her new court Under the Mountain,” Rhys announced. “There is a party, to show support for the new agreement with Hybern. There is the possibility of trade, and all the High Lords and some members of their Courts have been invited. I don’t think I need to remind you of why we need to keep the peace with her and Hybern.” 

Silence greeted his announcement. He looked around the table. “I assume you all know what to do while I’m gone.” 

Amren cut in. “Tamlin doesn’t trust her, Rhysand. Are you sure you should go?” 

He refused to meet anyone’s gaze as he answered. “We don’t have a choice. I’m going. I shouldn’t be long. I won’t need any of you to come with me, either.” 

“One of us should go with you, Rhys,” Cassian protested. “Me, or Mor. Amren can stay here and guard Velaris, keep an eye on the rest of the Court.” 

Azriel nodded in agreement. “Tamlin may be... Tamlin, but I think he is right about this, Rhys. What she did to Jurian, during the war. She won’t forget so easily. She speaks of peace, but let me find out more for you before you leave.” 

Rhysand looked to each of them in turn, his expression unwavering. “I will go tomorrow, alone, and I should return soon afterwards. There will be no more discussion of it.” 

Uneasy silence reined at the table for the rest of dinner. 

On their way back to her home, there was less teasing between Mor and Azriel. He carried her with deference, holding her perhaps closer than he had before, as if shielding her from an unknown threat. 

When they reached her front door, Mor held Azriel back from leaving too quickly. “What do you think she is planning?” She assumed that Azriel must have some knowledge, some hint as to what might come. 

“My sources have been quiet about this. It seems to be legitimate, but Rhys…” Az trailed off. 

Mor nodded in agreement. “After what she did to him, I don’t know why he is going or what he hopes to accomplish. He should have given me more information, first, let me contact the Court of Nightmares, something. I should be going instead of him. I should have volunteered to go instead.” 

Morrigan was at war with herself. Here they were, at the precipice of something unknown – Amarantha, the woman who had held Rhys and forced him to watch his warriors die, who had nearly ruined his wings, who had gone unpunished for so many wrongs, had returned for uncertain ends. And Rhys was going into her court alone. But all Mor wanted to think about was how close Azriel was to her, how much space there was between their lips, whether he would pull her into his warmth again before he left. 

She sighed in relief when he wrapped his arms around her again, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. 

“We have to trust him,” Az said. “I’ll send someone Under the Mountain, someone who will report to me, not Rhys.” Mor sunk into him, letting his words reassure her even as she felt that she should try harder, should go back to her cousin and offer her help. 

Later, she watched as Azriel flew back home, hoping that everything would come to a quick end – that Amarantha’s party Under the Mountain would go smoothly, that Rhysand would return unscathed, that the conversations she and Azriel needed to have before they could truly be free would come and go with ease. She felt as if her world was balanced on the edge of a razor, that happiness was something attainable, if only they could all do what they needed over the next few days. 

***** 

Rhysand had been true to his word and left Velaris before any of them had a chance to see him off the next morning. 

That evening, they all felt when it happened. 

In each of their homes, Morrigan, Azriel, Cassian, and Amren heard the message from Rhysand; with horror, they learned that Amarantha had taken his power and that of all the other High Lords, that she had killed half the Court of Nightmares. In a final brutal twist, they learned that everyone in Velaris was trapped there. If any of the Inner Circle left, it was at the risk of endangering the city and everything Rhysand’s family had protected for millennia. 

Instantly, they converged on the House of Wind. Azriel came to Morrigan to fly her there without a word. Tension was running through them, tension of an entirely different kind than what they had experienced the day before. 

Their talk at the House of Wind was unproductive – Rhysand hadn’t told Amren what he was planning, none of Azriel’s sources had known that there had been a possibility of deceit, especially of this magnitude. Amren was furious, Mor was devastated, Cassian and Azriel raged at their feeling of helplessness. Mor couldn’t contact anyone at the Court of Nightmares for more information, and they were all terrified to think of what would happen in the Night Court with Rhysand stripped of his power and all of them trapped in the city. After hours of shouting and misplaced anger, they agreed to come together the next morning to figure out how to approach the coming days. 

***** 

Before they reconvened at the House of Wind, Mor met privately with Azriel. She was desperate for news of her cousin, for some way she could help. And she felt that what she had at her fingertips was a breath away from being destroyed, again. 

Azriel let himself into her townhouse, familiar with it as if it were his own home. Mor met him in the foyer, clearly still in distress. She hadn’t slept since receiving Rhysand's message. None of them had. 

Az nodded at her in greeting, and there was a formality to him she hadn’t expected. He avoided her gaze, and dread began to pool in her stomach, a lead weight that she wished she could be rid of. She began to feel a lump growing in her throat, and she didn’t understand why. 

“Azriel, what can we do? What should we do?” She didn’t know how else to start this conversation, what else to say that wouldn’t sound selfish. She wanted to cling to a last remnant of something good, the possibility that Rhys would return quickly, that the beginning she and Az had been promised would manifest. 

He sat on her couch and looked down at the floor, pausing for a moment before speaking. “I’m still trying to gather information. I haven’t heard anything,” he said. His hands were clasped together tightly. 

He looked up at her. “Rylanna was there. She was Under the Mountain. I sent her.” He stopped, looking away from Morrigan as she tried to read his expression. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know if she is alive or dead or if she escaped. I can’t know.” 

It came home to Mor again, the severity of what Amarantha had done. So many were lost, and they had no idea who; they might not know for a long time. 

And there it was. The weight that Mor had felt, this was its source. Rhys was gone, along with half his Court, so many of their friends and acquaintances, possibly family members, and now Azriel was gone too, or as good as gone. He had sent his lover Under the Mountain, and his guilt was as good a wedge stuck between them as any. On top of everything else, it was unbearable. 

And Mor had been the one to suggest it. To do the right thing, to break things off formally with the others, so they could dedicate themselves to each other. And she had failed to stop Rhysand, to go in his place and spare her cousin this new round of suffering. She wanted to scream and tear the hair from her head at the gall of thinking she might be able to take this one thing for herself. 

As if either of them had the luxury of choosing their own paths, she thought bitterly. No matter what choices she made, Mor felt as if she were being led around by the decisions of others.  

She curled her hands into fists. 

"How long will this last? What can we do? I know he said we need to protect Velaris, but surely we can get out, find assistance somewhere. We can't just stay here. We have to do something. We have to find out who survived." She felt guilt creeping into her voice because underneath all of it, she was angry, and not just for the Night Court or Rhysand. She was angry for herself, and at herself, that this chance was being torn away, even as Azriel stood in front of her. She wanted to let her rage consume her because she was, yet again, watching her life and her choices be stripped away from her, and she couldn’t even allow herself a moment to grieve for what she almost had. 

A sob escaped her. She tried to breathe. She turned away from Azriel, trying to collect herself, trying not to fall apart in front of him.  

"Mor," he said softly. "Please look at me." He had been watching her face as these thoughts traveled through her. Earlier he had come to the cold realization that they were, once again, an impossibility. Amarantha had not only rent a hole in the Night Court, but in the very possibility that he could be with Morrigan until the damage she had done to their lives was repaired. 

"I know what you are going to say, Azriel. But don't. Spare us both. Please. Just tell me what we need to do."  

He clenched his jaw, watching her shut off before his eyes. Watching her tuck her passion and fury back into a place covered with smiles and optimism and careless laughs, a place he now knew was hiding something deeper. It was the place where her love for him lived, and it was being buried by the weight of responsibility, duty, and the knowledge that they weren’t going to be free until they could see their Court and High Lord safe. 

He sighed. “If we leave, Velaris will be lost. Rhys… when he protected this place, he bound us to it. We can’t leave. We can’t help him. We can’t get to… anyone.” 

Mor looked up at Azriel, resolve on her features. “But we will try. We have to find something we can do, to help him. To help everyone. I know we can.” 

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “We should work on that. For now.” 

“You should go, see the others at the House of Wind. I’ve got some work I can do here. I’ll meet with everyone else later,” Mor said. 

Azriel stood and faced the door. Before he took a step away from her, he took one closer. He wrapped his arms around her, breathing her in, even as she held her fists to her chest and refused to return the gesture. They stood like that, clinging to what they could. When he stepped away from her, he did it without any idea of when he would find himself in that position again. 

He let her go, and she listened as he let the door close quietly behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for this chapter. The alternate title was “Fucking Amarantha Fucks Stuff Up”, literally.


	4. Rapprochement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50 years after the events of the last chapter, the Inner Circle celebrate Starfall for the first time since Rhysand was stripped of his power and separated from his friends. Afterward, Mor and Az discuss the changes they have gone through and come to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first poem they read is Love Sonnet XVII, the second is Love Sonnet XI, both by Pablo Neruda.

Morrigan took herself in in the full-length mirror before her. She had chosen a white dress for tonight, the silk hugging her curves, the color complementing her blond waves and golden brown eyes. She ran her hands over her hips, smoothing the fabric, and thought of what she and her friends had been through over the last 50 years. They deserved this. To have one night where they were together, and at least a few of them were happy. It was their favorite holiday, and she didn’t want Rhysand distracted from Feyre, from his potential happiness, by being worried about her. 

She sighed quietly. Her cousin had suffered, and she was glad to see him finding some kind of happiness. When he had come to her, throwing the words at her – _she’s my mate_ – Mor hadn’t known what to make of it. 50 years apart, afraid at any moment that Amarantha would kill him… He had been her champion repeatedly over the years, and the thought that she was helpless to aid him had nearly been too much sometimes. She had been overjoyed at his freedom, that he had his powers, that he had found his mate. But of course, that was quickly tempered by the fact that Feyre was not really his, by the little he had been willing to tell Mor about his time with Amarantha. She knew that he had endured far worse than what he had told her, and that she might never know the full extent of it. 

Now they were facing an entirely new host of potential problems… But Feyre was here. And not only had Rhys found someone to help him heal, Mor had found one of the closest friends she had had in ages.

Before everything had changed, Mor had been so close to happiness herself, to what she had always wanted. Thoughts of their dinner at Rita’s flitted through her mind, Azriel pressing himself into her, telling her he loved her, his lips on hers… The evening before Rhys left they had been practically giddy, Azriel teasing and playing with her in ways that still pained her to remember. He hadn’t looked at her the same way since, with such joy in his eyes, and she didn’t blame him. The guilt for sending his lover Under the Mountain, the limbo it had left them in, had been too much. 

She wouldn’t let herself regret the past too much; it was rarely ever productive. But sometimes, she wondered if things were now coming together… She shook her head, clearing it. If it wasn’t helpful to think of the past, perhaps it was no more so to think of what could be in the future. She could be hopeful, optimistic, but she didn’t want to have to live with the pain of seeing things fail to pass. Again.

After one last glance back in the mirror, she wandered downstairs to meet her friends. 

*****

Azriel had come to the party with Cassian. Starfall was significant, for them, for Rhysand. He had tried to think of all of them, of the fact that they were all together again, to remind himself of what they had to be grateful for. For now, at least. 

He was glad that Rhys was back, that they had a new, formidable friend in Feyre, and that she made his brother happy, even if their future was uncertain. Being trapped in Velaris had been its own special kind of hell for one so used to dedicating himself to work, to a cause. Not to mention Rylanna… he had found out soon after Amarantha died that she had been among the half of Rhys’ court that had died the night of the party. One half of his court, to send a message, and the woman that Azriel was waiting for, merely so he could break her heart, was gone with them. Ages ago, it felt like. Ages of wasted, useless guilt. 

The nagging in the back of his mind had become more persistent, lately. He had never stopped thinking about the words that had passed between him and Mor the days before and after Amarantha came. And now he had found it harder to avoid watching her and her more-frequent laughter, to avoid noticing the way that she cared for her cousin, for Feyre, to ignore the way his body hummed with attention when she entered the room. 

She wasn’t even here yet and she consumed his thoughts. 

When she arrived, Cassian was saying something to their friend, but Azriel stopped listening to the conversation. His eye went directly to Morrigan, who was making her way to Feyre with her back to him. She was wearing white, perfect and elegant and beautiful as ever. She spoke with Feyre and he wanted to stop his eyes from roaming over her, the low back of that dress, and he knew that his thoughts would be apparent to anyone paying attention to him. Luckily, people rarely noticed him unless he willed it, so he gave up trying to hide his gaze. 

He had known her for so long, had seen her wearing next to nothing for various reasons over the years – his mind went to the blue robe she had worn that morning, when he had been painfully aware that she was bare underneath – but he took in her curves as if he had never seen her before. His stomach tightened, a familiar sensation he had attempted to ignore for as long as he could remember. He swallowed and tried to look away when he saw Feyre notice him. 

Feyre had a habit of seeing him in these moments, despite his best efforts. He would have to be more guarded around her, if he didn’t want her interfering where Mor was concerned. The two had grown close in the short time they had known each other, but he could already sense a protectiveness in Feyre towards her friend. And he would never begrudge anyone the desire to protect Mor, unnecessary as it was.

Feyre looked back to her friend, who was still speaking. He saw a shift in tension in Mor’s back, her shoulders suddenly a bit stiffer than before. She knew what was going on behind her, then. Azriel cursed silently, reminding himself again to be more careful in the future. She stayed with Feyre, however, not allowing herself to turn and acknowledge him, the way he was looking at her. Again.

When the stars began their familiar trajectory, everyone’s attention went to the sky. He watched them for a while, remembering that this was a happy time, that he hadn’t been able to enjoy this fully in decades. Looking back down, he finally met Mor’s gaze. She smiled softly at him, and he felt her warmth as surely as if she were standing next to him.

Azriel, Morrigan, and Cassian came together without a word passing between them. Mor took both of each other their hands in hers, and none of them could speak for a moment. 

Mor broke the silence first. “Dance with me?” She led them both to the empty space that had been reserved for this, and for a while they moved together, laughing, talking with each other and their other friends. Throughout the evening, they came together and moved apart, only to find each other again to laugh and dance. As if this were something they did every evening, as if they hadn’t spent the last 50 years adrift. 

By the early morning hours Mor’s white dress was spotted with stardust, and looking down, Azriel saw that his clothing was similarly marked. He noticed a telltale look on Mor’s face that indicated she was nearly at her limit and he followed her quietly when she left the dancefloor. She wandered, exhausted, until she found a settee in the dining room where she fell asleep, completely unguarded and comfortable. He kept watch over her from a distance, not wanting to leave her there alone, safe as it was. 

After a while of watching her breathing deeply, he decided to take her home. He gently touched her shoulder, not wanting to surprise her when he took her into his arms to fly her to her townhouse. She muttered and moved into his touch, saying his name. She hadn’t opened her eyes, but she covered his hand with her own.

“Yes, it’s me, Mor. I’m going to take you home.” The silk of her dress was twisted around her, revealing her bare calves and feet. Azriel took a blanket off the back of a nearby chair and laid it over her. Sliding his arms underneath her knees and back, he lifted her gently, carried her to the balcony, and took off in the direction of her townhome.

*****

Around midday, Mor woke on her bed, covered in a blanket she didn’t remember owning. Azriel was sitting in the chair next to her, reading the book of poetry she always kept on the nightstand. 

Rubbing her eyes and wiping away the remnants of her make-up, she said his name quietly. “Did you stay here all night,” she asked after clearing her throat, not sure she wanted the answer. She took a drink of water from the glass he had left on her nightstand. 

“You fell asleep early in the morning and I brought you home. So technically, not all night. But since then, yes. I’ve been here.” 

She sat up in bed, looking down at herself. She was still wearing her silk dress, the fabric hopelessly wrinkled and twisted from her movement while she slept. Stardust was smeared across her skin, her dress possibly ruined. In the daylight, the sparkling mess glowed with far less intensity.

Pushing the blanket off herself, she pulled her legs up into her chest to rest her chin on her knees and look at him. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and he was wearing the same clothes he had been in the night before. They were decidedly less wrinkled than her own.

“Did you sleep,” she asked, needing to break the silence. She remembered him picking her up, murmuring his name against his neck as he took her home. The air had been cool, but he had put a blanket – that blanket – over her and cradled her against his body.

“A bit. Enough.” She knew he was probably stretching the truth, trying to keep her from worrying. He had done things like this their entire lives – watching over her, caring for her, and never asking for anything in return.

He set the book of poetry down gently, marking his own spot in it while retaining hers. His hand remained on it, caressing the cover, and her eyes went to his fingers, to the spine of the book, worn and fading, full of poems she had memorized long ago. She felt as if he were touching her, and she forced herself to look away from the nightstand. The poems were full of longing, some of them quite explicit, and she blushed slightly to think of him reading them next to her. He probably wondered how often she read the book, though there was no hiding that, based on the cracked spine and worn edges.

“Mor,” he began, unsure of himself. He wanted to promise her everything, but didn’t know if he would have time to make good on that. And he didn’t want to break her again.

“Rhysand seems happy, now. As happy as he can be. I’m glad for him,” she started to say, without a trace of bitterness. “After everything he has been through, Rhysand deserves someone like Feyre,” she continued. Feyre was another survivor, someone he could help heal, even as his own wounds ran deep. 

Azriel nodded in agreement, grateful for somewhere to start, that they had another topic they could discuss before moving on to their own problems. “She has fit right in here, I think. It might still be a while, before things are normal.” 

He shook his head, wondering what normal might look like, eventually. If they could get there. After everything had been upended by Amarantha, it sometimes seemed like an impossibility. 

Mor knew that Rylanna had died there – the night when everything had gone wrong. His former lover hadn’t made it past that moment, and Azriel had taken a long time to accept that it had been out of his control. That she had been doing her job as much as he had done his. 

And Mor had waited. Knowing that he needed time, she had waited for him, silently loving him. It made him feel immeasurably sad, knowing what it must have cost her to wait. To let him heal. The thought stopped him. That was what they all had needed, not just Rhys – healing, repair, to make peace with a past that had treated none of them kindly. 

He blinked away this sorrow, still trying to concentrate on his gratitude, though he felt something much more like regret gnawing away at him. He had seen Mor like this many times, just as she woke, and he wished it were under different circumstances. He wished that he had woken next to her in the bed, curled into her warmth, instead of in this chair, but he would take this for as long as she allowed it.

“After Rhys left – after Amarantha – I hoped for a day like this,” she continued. “I would hope that he would return, that he would be safe and whole, that you would stop feeling so damn guilty, that I could just… make it until that moment.” She looked down into her lap. “I’m not asking anything of you, Az.”

They remained silent for a few minutes, looking away from one another. He picked her book up again, effectively making the space between them seem much narrower.

“Which one is your favorite,” he asked. Mor shifted on the sheets, pausing a moment before answering. She made no move to take the book from him, as she had no need. When she spoke, it was softly, from memory, allowing her voice to pause at the breaks, as if the words were always a part of her.

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_  
_or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._  
_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_  
_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms_  
_but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;_  
_thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,_  
_risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

Azriel’s voice took over, completing the poem for her.

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._  
_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
_so I love you because I know no other way_ _

_than this: where I does not exist, nor you,_  
_so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,_  
_so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep._

She looked at him, questioning. 

“This book,” - he held it up as he spoke – “I have read it many times. You’ve had it on your nightstand for a long time.”

She searched her memory for all the times over the years that he had been in her room long enough to pick up her book, to sit and read and memorize the words. There hadn’t been many instances over the years of him staying here, but in the beginning, when he had found her, and then when she was healing…

“I bought it. When I saw what it meant to you,” he said, answering her unspoken questions. “I know that you buy it again every few years, to replace it when it comes apart.”

She nodded, thinking back to how many worn copies she had had to replace. “Did you memorize them all,” she asked, wondering how he had been able to complete the words for her. “The poems, I mean.”

“Many of them. Not all. I always wondered which ones were your favorite. That one is… beautiful.” 

“Now you know…” she said, her voice trailing off, unable to talk to him in any rational way about what that poem meant to her. To explain what it meant to hear him say those words. She had a thought, and waited a moment for the bravery to ask him the question.

“Which one is your favorite, Azriel?” 

He didn’t need to look back at the book before he spoke.

_I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair._  
_Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets._  
_Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day  
_I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.__

_I hunger for your sleek laugh,_  
_your hands the color of a savage harvest,_  
_hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,  
_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond._ _

He paused for a moment, waiting for her. She obliged him by reciting the rest of the poem, her mouth hardly able to form the words that she knew without looking.

_I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,_  
_the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,  
_I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,__

_and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,_  
_hunting for you, for your hot heart,  
_like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue._ _

There was nothing either of them could say for a moment. The sun and shadows moved perceptibly through her room in the space of their silence. His fingers caressed the cover of the book as she watched. When the stillness broke, it was by Morrigan’s voice.

“Azriel, I’m sorry. I pushed you away. I knew that we couldn’t be, not then, at least, but I reacted badly. I pushed you further away than I meant to. All I wanted to do was take comfort in you, and I couldn’t, and it tore me apart.” Tears were shining in her eyes, and Mor felt sorrow and relief in equal measure. She hadn’t wanted to say so much so soon, but it seemed that history had a habit of repeating itself. 

“And now,” he asked. “What do you want now?” He tried to keep his voice steady, even. He gripped the book between his hands, forgetting how worn it was.

“What I’ve always wanted,” she said. “What I will always want.” Her hands were folded in her lap and she kept her gaze on him. 

He put the book down and the bed shifted from his weight when he sat on it. He moved to lie next to her, pulling her into his arms. It was a slow and gentle request, one that she agreed to without hesitation. She laid back down, tucking herself into his chest while he stroked her arm in rhythm to her breathing. 

He wrapped one wing around the two of them, blocking out much of the sunlight, and Mor wanted to close her eyes and sink into him forever. She held her hands at his chest, palms braced against him. Her thumbs stroked him gently, and she was glad to hear a steady cadence to his breathing. Pressing her ear to his chest, she listened to his heartbeat as his breath warmed her face.

Azriel held her, wondering what he could possibly say that hadn’t already been said before. He loved her with every dark corner of his soul, and he knew that she loved him despite those corners, what might be hidden there. That had been certain for a long time, for longer even than they had been dancing around each other. She hadn’t needed to corner him in the restroom at Rita’s to find out how he felt. She already knew; she had just needed to hear him say it. But in the end, even that hadn’t been enough. Not then, at least.

They had found themselves in this position before over the years – embracing one another when he had taken care of her, and many times when she had taken care of him after a mission. They had lain together silently, taking comfort in each other they knew they wouldn’t get anywhere else. But they had never done it at a point like this, when everything they wanted to say had been said.

There was one last step that he could take to show her how he felt. His devotion to her had manifested itself in so many small hidden actions – memorizing her favorite book, a fact he had managed to keep hidden – that he knew he needed to show her in other ways, now.

He placed a tentative kiss on the top of her head, closing his eyes to breath her in. Looking up at him she traced his cheekbone with her fingertips, and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. There was little pressure behind it; if he had closed his eyes he might have wondered if it had happened. They had never kissed like that before, with so little force that it was if they had been doing it forever, as if they had nothing left to prove.

She reached up, pulling herself up until she had shifted to look him directly in the face. 

"Azriel. I want you to tell me what you want." She searched his face and waited. He shifted his weight over her until he had pressed her back against the bed, and looking down, he kissed her with only slightly more pressure than she had kissed him moments before. 

"You, Mor," he replied. She nodded, the only sign he needed to continue. 

He slid the strap of her dress off one shoulder, slowly tracing the slope from her neck to her arm with his lips. She closed her eyes at the sensation, warmth enveloping her. It was wholly unlike the other times, when they had felt tension, when there was nothing but heat that burned and consumed. Now it was something that sustained, something that would nourish her, if he would only continue. 

He pulled the fabric of her dress up as she shifted her hips and raised her arms to help him silently undress her, peeling away the destroyed silk and leaving it on the floor next to her bed. He whispered her name as he traveled the length of her body with his lips, taking his time to test the hollow at her throat, the peaks and valleys of her body. Her face had long ago been burned into his memory, and now he would take time memorizing the way her skin tasted, the way she moaned when he placed his hands on her. 

"Az, I need to see you," she said between gasps as he reached her thighs. He sat up between them and undressed himself as she watched, her eyes devouring him as he moved languidly, in no more of a hurry to give her this pleasure than he had been to give her others. He shifted over her suddenly and kissed her while her hands worked at his pants, pushing them down over his hips until he had to finish removing them himself. She ran her hands over him, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer. He growled slightly and kissed her harder before pulling away as she reached for him. 

"I'm going to taste you, Mor," he said by way of explanation. "All of you."

She pressed her head back into the pillow and clutched the sheets as he repositioned himself between her thighs and began placing soft kisses on them, pulling the remaining scrap of fabric down her legs until she was completely bare. He pressed her knees slightly to open her legs to him, and her breath caught in her throat. When he placed his tongue against her skin she thought she might fall apart, and he gradually brought her to an edge that had her crying out his name and arching her back until she thought she might die from the pleasure of being with him in this way. 

He ran his fingers in a path up her body as she trembled, making his way back up to settle over her. When he finally entered her and set a steady rhythm he began to say her name, whispering the ways he had loved her, the ways he would continue to do so, and she was as overcome by the feeling of him inside her as the words passed his lips. When she came again she pressed herself into him, kissing him with hunger now, wanting every possible connection between them made as he spilled into her. 

When they had both come to rest and their heartbeats calmed, he slid out of her, only to tuck her back into his arms in the same position they had started from. Now her forehead pressed into him as he threaded his fingers through her hair, and he stroked her back, tracing patterns in the stardust that peppered her skin, until they fell asleep together. 

*****

When they woke again it was evening, and they realized they had spent the entire day like this. Smiling, Mor nuzzled her head into Azriel's chest as he pulled her in tight. 

He looked to the nightstand where he had left her book. The spine had been irreparably torn somehow when he had set it down. He reached over her to pick it up delicately. 

“I’m sorry, Mor. I’ll buy you a new one.” He relaxed into her again as she turned to place her back to him. He ran his hands over her skin and kissed her before settling it back down. Holding the book in front of them, he turned the pages carefully while she ran her fingers over them, explaining her favorite poems to him, listening to his interpretation of others. 

“Don’t buy me a new one,” she finally said after they had made their way through it together. “I want yours.” She turned back to him and his breath caught. “You bought a copy, right? Bring yours with you. When you come and stay with me. When you come to stay here." 

She turned back around and pressed her back into him, pulling his arms around her and resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

"Tomorrow," she said without waiting for a response. "Tomorrow you will come and move in your things."

"Tomorrow," he answered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the end of this fic, and thanks for sticking around although it took me forever to write the third and fourth parts (to me, at least). Let me know what you think! I had a lot of fun writing this, but I’m diving right back into another multi-chapter moriel soon.
> 
> (You could read [ Full Circle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9324641) as somewhat of a continuation of this series, btw, as it alludes to events in the second chapter.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of fics I have decided to write, exploring how Moriel deal with their relationship/not relationship. I refuse to believe these situations or conversations never would have happened in the centuries they have known each other. I’m trying to figure out what they know, how they react, how they feel, etc. Basically, how do they do this for so long without taking the next step?


End file.
